


Artifacts

by Vinvalen



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:39:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinvalen/pseuds/Vinvalen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding the way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artifacts

For Cid, it is a never-ending fascination to watch Vincent simply _look_ at things.

The gunman never actually touches anything, though there are times he has come very close to it. Instead, he takes a single step toward whatever has captured his interest, bends down for a closer look…and if he forgets himself and reaches out, it is for an instant only and his gloved hand disappears beneath his cloak once more as he backs away again.

One step closer, two steps back. Then a swift glance around, to see if anyone has noticed how his fingers clench as if fearing to be either reprimanded or burned. 

Cid has decided Vincent needs that connection, something with which to anchor himself in the present even if it means he must begin in the past.

Today is Junon, and three hours of layover give Cid the perfect opportunity to cajole Vincent into joining him for a drink at one of the more reputable of the pilot's favorite watering holes. He does not feel the need to mention a place along the way where he intends to stop. Cid will claim it as a spur-of-the-moment decision, when in fact he has been planning this particular venture for weeks.

Cid loves a good plan well-executed, and it has been so very worth it to see Vincent lose himself among the artifacts displayed in the tiny shop, forgetting for awhile his too-familiar pattern of approach and retreat in the simple joy of breathing in the hallowed dust of simpler times.

Cid wandered the aisles wondering, as he always did, about the lives of the people who once owned the things displayed there and what had become of them. What stories the abandoned heirlooms would tell if only they could speak. 

 

The object of Vincent's interest is simple enough in itself, causing Vincent to linger and actually reach out with a single finger to touch the slender neck, and then move onward to caress the fullness of the body beyond. For awhile he is lost in dreams until the cascading ripple of bells signals the arrival of another patron and his fingers twitch, clenching into a fist before they are withdrawn.

Vincent's retreat is more decisive this time as he now ignores the object that held him entranced only moments before. "I'll be waiting at the bar," he reminds Cid brusquely.

"Yeah, okay...be there in a few. I wanna see if they have a teacup to match the one in my set that got broke." But Cid is already speaking to empty air as the door bells jingle again in the wake of Vincent's departure.

Biting back disappointment, and assured he is no longer being observed in turn because that is also something Vincent does, Cid closely studies the object that held Vincent spellbound, wondering what memories it awoke in him.

The epiphany, when it comes, is so very simple. There is an unobtrusive, tarnished brass name plate bleeding its greened edges into the tattered silk lining of the old-fashioned case. 

"How much?" Cid says to the proprietor, not caring about the cost as he arranges for a rush delivery. Then, because making a liar of himself is unacceptable, Cid asks about teacups.

A few nights later, aged wood gleams softly beneath the lamp of Cid’s work table. Strung in reverse of their original order to compensate for that beloved, ruined hand, the violin's tones are mellow and sweet, the hair of its bow strong and tight, scented with the tang of fresh resin. 

Cid promises Grimoire he will find new silk…and fine leather to restore the outside of the case. The tiny nameplate with its elegantly engraved initials is already cleaned and polished, waiting.

Cid smiles and switches off the lamp above his work space, thinking of fathers and sons and of things lost that somehow manage to find their way home again.


End file.
